


And I Feel Bare Naked

by define_serenity



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Attraction, Banter, F/M, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 19:17:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3661860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/define_serenity/pseuds/define_serenity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When his conscious mind reaches for the memories – “<i>Eddie</i>,” his own name a wisp to his lips, her fingers in his hair and her thighs tightening around his hips – he’s loathe to think of them as sins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I Feel Bare Naked

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t kill me don’t hate me, they’re my faves, so I had to at least try? **anisstaranise** prompted me “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this” so, you know, blame her if need be.

He wakes the exact moment she abandons the bed, a slight dip that alerts him to both her presence and her escape, her clothes soft confessions to her skin, though when his conscious mind reaches for the memories – “ _Eddie_ ,” his own name a wisp to his lips, her fingers in his hair and her thighs tightening around his hips – he’s loathe to think of them as sins. 

What they did was impulsive at worst, giving in to what could best be described as a magnetism he’d felt play between them since that first time he found her drunk at the bar, sad, alone, and he saw no reason why they couldn’t share that solitude over another drink. He thought them only friends for the longest time, but he gets it now, how friendship can change, that precipitous _will I_ , _won’t I_ , _should I_  whenever their eyes locked for a few seconds longer than necessary, a smile lingered at the corner of her mouth, eyes downcast at a moment’s notice. 

He would never have thought of Caitlin Snow as a match for him, not at first glance, or second, no, it took him seeing her as hollowed out as he felt to solidify the idea that maybe he’d been searching in all the wrong places. Caitlin wasn’t like any of his exes; sure she was smart and kind and stubborn, but she came with a fair amount of baggage, a fiancé who’d somehow survived the explosion at S.T.A.R labs, and she was so incredibly, devastatingly guarded. But he now carried his own baggage, a fiancée who left him for her best friend, a friend who was also Caitlin’s friend, and– Central City had done a number on him he hadn’t quite digested yet. 

These past few weeks Caitlin had somehow made everything easier, it all seemed less complicated from the vantage point of Caitlin's couch, containers of Chinese food littered at uneven intervals across the coffee table, an old black-and-white slapstick coaxing polite giggles out of Caitlin the likes he imagined few had been privy to.

They talked too; she listened to his deepest and darkest confessions, nurtured his heartbreak with her own, let him be angry at Iris and Barry whenever he needed a few moments to be, even though it often left him less the man he thought he was and too much the angry ex. Caitlin understood the merit of a little anger, told him to let it in because bottling it up gave someone else all the power. In turn he listened to words that necessitated further explanation, watched her excitement move around words like ‘biomimetics’ and ‘fluid mechanics’ and her eyes alight with all the secrets of the universe. He'd accepted friendship, he'd given friendship in return, content to bob along the waves of whatever they were building. (What he had with Iris was always fragile. Whatever he has with Caitlin is surprisingly solid.)

This new vantage point though, on the precipice of one side of the bed, the sheets a mess, his head heavy with all the things he thought he'd never do – the brush of his lips down her pearly white stomach, her knees raised and her skirt hiking higher up her legs, her thighs warm and quivering and his name, “ _Eddie_ ” tumbling from swollen lips – complicated didn't quite describe it.

He shifts onto his back once he's sure Caitlin's left the room, taking with her all the sense last night had mystifyingly made; the black dress that clung to her barely-there curves, low cut out neckline that left little to the imagination yet Caitlin Snow seemed to him a bit of a constant mystery, because she safeguarded her innermost hopes and desires behind taut smiles that made him want to unwrap her like a Christmas present. He had tickets to a small jazz joint reopening after the fallout Snart and Rory caused in that part of town, and who better to waste them on than a kindred spirit, somewhat broken, mostly healed, but few others to relate to. (He knows she relates to Barry too, to a greater extent than he's willing to admit – he tries not to think about that too much.)

Caitlin's fishing one of her heels from between the couch cushions when he strides out of the bedroom, dressed hastily in last night’s clothes, his shirt loose around his shoulders. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” he says, assaulted by the crystal clear memory of her laughter against his mouth, lowering her down on the couch, their lips locked while they deprived themselves of oxygen.

“Excuse me?” Caitlin’s hair swirls in an unkempt wave as she comes up with her heel in one hand, his tie in the other, and he can’t help the unkempt laugh that escapes him. She’s dressed in short sweats and a white tee, and his subconscious mind makes the same connection once again; she looks like Christmas morning.

“I didn’t mean to–”

The words stutter around a smile, because after the initial surrender last night he absolutely meant to – the trip-step-kiss after wishing each other a good night, the inevitability of a pole finding its counterpart, the little sigh on Caitlin’s lips as if to say, _finally_ , yes, finally. He kissed her unaware he’d wanted to for so long, but unable to stop once he started. And Caitlin hadn’t dissuaded him for a second.

“I was going to ask you out.” He chances a step closer, back into Caitlin’s orbit and everything that entails; science banter he can’t make heads or tails of, smiles that often falter, but a warmth he wants to curl around – a body he explored with the tips of his fingers, with his tongue and lips, with breaths breathed for the sole purpose of more time with her. “Take you out to dinner.”

Caitlin cocks an impressed eyebrow and slides his tie back around his neck, meticulously tugging it underneath the collar before her hazel eyes find his. “Like a proper gentleman,” she quips, lips barely able to contain a smile.

His hands settle around her hips, Caitlin’s still tugging at the ends of his tie. “Not to say last night wasn’t–” His eyes draw down; how can he properly express what their night together meant without adding too much weight to this wonderfully dependable foundation they’ve built? He shouldn’t diminish what they did, but he doesn’t want to make yesterday into more than what it was.

“Careful, Detective.” Caitlin playfully wags a finger. “One might think you actually had fun.”

“I had a great time,” he breathes the smile that follows and finds her eyes again, imbued with the stupid fun of stumbling into her apartment, the moan and gasp when he kissed the inside of her left thigh, then her right, the weight of her body on top of him once they made it to the bedroom.

“Me too.” Caitlin shares his smile, carefully skating fingertips down his torso. “And, you know,” – she averts her eyes, as if what she’s about to suggest lay booby-trapped with the exact same concerns he shared – “you can still take me out to dinner. Or not.” She shrugs. “We’ll see.”

There was a time that would have scared him, and there was undoubtedly a time that would’ve scared her, the uncertainty after one artless night consumed in each other’s arms running amuck in their neatly organized lives. But being where they are, being who they are at this point in their lives, they’ll let the ambiguity simmer for now, see where it takes them beyond the vestiges of a single night.

“Breakfast?” Caitlin perks up, his hand sweeping across her stomach as she makes a beeline for the kitchen.

His arm falls to his side, and he smiles, “Sure,” because it makes all the sense in the world.

 

 

**\- fin -**

 


End file.
